


Everything and Nothing

by cruciferae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Almost a Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, F/M, Gen, Manipulation, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-10-05 02:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17315969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruciferae/pseuds/cruciferae
Summary: OC-Insert as Myrtle Warren (aka Moaning Myrtle, but that's when she becomes a ghost)———There is something about reincarnation that is not quite right.Am I reincarnated because I am supposedly going to hell?———Is it just because I’m a horrible person?Perhaps.———Some people are born monsters.Some become them instead.Which one is Tom Riddle, you might ask?I can’t really say.Because for me, he’s a means to an end.





	1. Prologue: Best Regards, M. Warren

**Author's Note:**

> Relationship tag for Myrtle and Tom pops up three different ways because that's just how their relationship is going to work.

There is something about reincarnation that is not quite right.

 

Something about balance in the world; something about equality, maybe even karma.

 

Am I reincarnated because I am supposedly going to hell?

 

Am I reincarnated because I am not religious (and therefore going to hell)?

 

Am I reincarnated because I did not pray, did not believe, did not do good deeds?

 

If I suddenly started praying every day, no matter how truthful my prayers were, would it stop?

 

Or would the cycle just continue on?

 

* * *

 

Is it just because I’m a horrible person?

 

Perhaps.

 

* * *

 

When I used to dream of venturing into another universe, it was always after all the major conflicts had passed. Or I was a major character, changing the world and its people for the better.

 

Take for example, the Naruto-verse. I could have been born to any of the prestigious clans in the world. I could have been a genius civilian who was sponsored by anyone of importance. I could have been the butterfly that stopped the eradication of a clan. I could have been the one to make peace between the Senju and Uchiha.

 

I could have been great.

 

* * *

 

But dreams are not reality, no matter how hard I may wish.

 

Therefore, none of my dreams came true.

 

Somehow a mixture of most bad things ended up as reality.

 

* * *

 

Remember the Harry Potter series?

 

It’s about a boy-who-lived, a savior of the wizarding world. The boy was given the responsibility of defeating the mostly immortal Dark Lord Voldemort.

 

Spoiler alert: he succeeded.

 

* * *

 

Remember the Hogwarts castle?

 

It’s full of moving staircases, pictures and live portraits. There’s a poltergeist and there are ghosts, too.

 

Moaning Myrtle was a ghost who resided around the u-bend of a toilet in a girl’s bathroom.

 

* * *

 

(But she was a human student before.)

 

* * *

 

It is apparent that life and death are one. You simply cannot have one without the other, which made it extremely ambitious of Tom Riddle to aim for absolute immortality.

 

So there was my new goal in this life: save Tom Riddle from himself.

 

Myrtle Warren was a doormat. Easy to walk over, easy to trample, difficult to ruin entirely.

 

As Myrtle Warren, I was not going to be a doormat. I was not going to die by snake eyes. I was going to live, and I was going make the best of the life I was given.

 

* * *

 

Some people are born monsters.

 

Some become them instead.

 

Which one is Tom Riddle, you might ask?

 

I can’t really say.

 

Because for me, he’s a means to an end.


	2. Acedia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of clumsy magical owls and giant red trains.

**acedia** ( _noun_ ) - spiritual or mental sloth; apathy

 

* * *

 

The flurry of activity surrounding me in King’s Cross impairs my vision, and being ridiculously short does not help in the least. Thankfully Father’s booming voice is easily recognizable.

 

There are tearful parents saying goodbye to their children, excited siblings rearing to go, and lonely orphans with no one to share the experience with.

 

* * *

 

My Hogwarts letter arrived the morning I turned 11. My family and I were sitting at the table eating breakfast, and a lovely owl swooped in through the open window. (Gave us quite a bit of a scare, too. It hit a pan on the way in and knocked the pan off the wall, sending it clanging to the floor. I’ve never even heard about clumsy magical owls. It looked strangely sheepish as it landed on our dining table.)

 

While Father wasn’t magical, Mother was, so I at least had some idea on what to expect. Mother had told Father about magic when they were small children, therefore Father only ever went through an envious phase (instead of the very common fear-of-the-unknown thing people go through).

 

He still sometimes has petty remarks about magic, but that’s essentially just part of his personality. He calls it the lazy way to live life, but Mother has a very effective way of threatening him (with magic, so…). He adores both me and Mother, sometimes a little bit too much.

 

I think if I had the mindset of an actual child, I’d have been that spoiled brat who throws tantrums whenever something didn’t go their way.

 

* * *

 

The Hogwarts Express really is big, beautiful, and shockingly red. It is like the creators wished for even a blind person to be able to see it from afar. And it is only fitting that I did not notice it until the horn tooted.

 

Loudly.

 

* * *

 

The volume of voices in the station grows even louder, more farewells are said.

 

(My father might be a bit of a crybaby, but I love him all the same.)

 

“See you soon, Mother!” I exclaim over the roar of voices in the station as I run towards the train. “Don’t cry so much, Father! We have breaks so you’ll see me pretty often at home!”

 

And it is time to go.

 

* * *

 

The Express’s compartments are all occupied, so it’s only a matter of finding someone who doesn’t look like they would bite you if you asked to sit.

 

One of the things I wish I had worked on after being rebirthed is my ability to speak to strangers. (My math skills were another, but that isn’t quite as important as conversation with other people, in this case.)

 

“Hey, Pigtails, ” I hear from a bit further behind.

 

* * *

 

I turn around and see a small group of people.

 

The one who called out to me, a boy, dark curly hair, a mass of freckles, has a hand raised in greeting.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t have another way to get your attention, ” he smiles, dimples flashing for a second. “You looked kinda lost, wanna join us?”

 

There’s a girl behind him, with even darker hair and grey eyes who assesses me from toe to head to toe again, who sniffs disdainfully, and thankfully dismisses me. I was not ready for a confrontation with anybody, no matter if they were children or not.

 

“Don’t mind her, she’s my cousin, ” and my attention is brought back to the boy (who _still_ hasn’t introduced himself). “Marion’s completely harmless, I promise. She’s a regular bluenose until she likes you, but she won’t do or say anything too bad unless you prove to be a dumb Dora.”

 

There’s a bit of a warning in those last words, but I think he seems nice enough.

 

“Promises, promises... Would you swear it insead?” I ask, hesitantly forcing a smile. I’m hoping my sarcasm comes across clearly enough, even as alarm bells sound in my head.

 

There’s a slight pause as I think he seriously considers it. Either that or he thinks I’m strange.

 

“Jokes, I’m Myrtle Warren, and I don’t think I’m an imbecile, ” I hold out my hand to him, and he takes it instead of shaking it.

 

“Ha, ha! You slay me, ” is his sarcastic response. “I’m Irving Travers. Call me Irving. Come, I’ll introduce you to the others.”

 

(Child politicians, so help me, I’m going to be eaten alive.)

 

* * *

 

There’s only one muggle-born student among the group that Irving introduces. Lena Petrov, a quiet girl with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes. The rest of them are half-blood. Phoebe Agnes, Levi Hendel, Montague Vanier, and Myra Hinsey. Only Irving and Marion are pureblood, and they do not discriminate.

 

( _Not yet_ , the petty part of my mind snarks. _Just you wait_.)

 

I don’t know what I was expecting when I met purebloods, but they are just like me and can have their own opinions. I wanted to hate them for what the Dark Lord would make them do in the future. I wanted them to be monsters so I would have a ready made excuse.

 

* * *

 

Marion, while cold and indifferent to strangers, was in all honesty incredibly intelligent and a great conversationist. She tells us that she hates being traded as a piece of property. She was brought up as the perfect wife for her future husband, but she knew how to run circles upside down, sideways, and backwards around anyone who thought of her as a trophy piece.

 

Irving describes her as a teddy bear dressed as an ice queen. I can’t see the teddy bear, none of us can, but though dismissive, she’s not entirely malicious. She does have a mean streak, but all of us do too.

 

* * *

 

The seven of us discuss various things as the train speeds towards Hogwarts.

 

We talk about our favorite places in the world (Montague’s favorite is surprisingly Hawaii, apparently he has family who live there so he can use the floo network), about what our favorite subjects will be (Phoebe expects it to be Divination), and eventually we come upon the topic of the Houses we would be sorted into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary (for the 1920s slang used in this chapter):
> 
> bluenose: killjoy
> 
> dumb Dora: unintelligent woman
> 
> you slay me: you’re hilarious


	3. Benign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of friendships and shaky alliances.

**benign** ( _adjective_ ) - (1) gentle; kindly (2) of a disease - not harmful in effect

 

* * *

  

Hufflepuff was not the first choice I would guess for any pureblood.

 

Simply because I was used to reading about Slytherins being all about blood purity, and that they’d be bullied out of their own home if they weren’t in a respectable house. (So much prejudice. And a lot of it is from myself, too.) Cunning and smarts were only to be expected.

 

But Irving Travers— Mister-I’m-Aiming-For-Hufflepuff— was going to be a revolutionary someday.

 

* * *

 

“Really? Hufflepuff?” I ask, only _slightly_ incredulously.

 

Marion narrows her eyes, and snipes back immediately, “What? You think just because we’re pureblood we’re immediately placed in Slytherin?”

 

“Well, no,” I try placating her, with a universal hands-up-I-surrender gesture. “But wouldn't your family be displeased?”

 

A derisive snort from Marion, and an eye roll. “You think they would be displeased by _loyalty_ ?” she scoffs. “Huh. _You’re_ one of the idiots who think Hufflepuff is for the leftovers who had no place else to go.”

 

“ _No_ , I don’t. I just meant—,” I can’t find the words I was going to use to describe Sirius Black’s situation.

 

Thankfully Myra cuts in before I can back myself into an even worse corner.

 

“I think,” she says carefully, “what Myrtle meant, is that because your family has mostly been in Slytherin and Ravenclaw, being sorted into a different house might have been like ruining a tradition.”

 

Irving continues as Marion opens her mouth (presumably to yell at me, again), “Also, I have to point out that Mother and Father have heard me say that I wanted to be in Hufflepuff so many times, I don’t think they have it in them to be surprised if I actually do get placed there.” He seems oddly pleased about that.

 

“They did lecture me when I mentioned it the first time. And the second, the third, the fourth. Then they got used to it.” He winks at me from behind Marion’s back, and I am relieved to know that he did not take my comment negatively, the way his cousin did.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the trip to Hogwarts is significantly calmer, and during a lull in the conversation, I fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

In one universe, Harry Potter is sorted into Slytherin. He is bullied incessantly, for being a lion in snake skin that’s too small, for being a slimy snake when he should have been a lion, for not living up to the expectations that everyone has set on a boy they don’t even know.

 

Harry Potter has left his old bullies behind, only to run into even worse ones. He is all alone, an outcast, though he does not regret rejecting Draco Malfoy’s hand on the Express.

 

He dies in the Chamber of Secrets, trying to save a little red-haired girl.

 

* * *

  

In another universe, Harry Potter is once again sorted into Slytherin. This Harry Potter decided to make nice with both Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy. But Ronald Weasley dislikes being associated with snakes, so he leaves.

 

Harry Potter doesn’t find the Chamber of Secrets. More than twenty students and professors are petrified. Ginevra Weasley’s body is never recovered.

 

Harry Potter can talk to snakes, and is revered as the Heir of Slytherin.

 

* * *

 

In every iteration, something changes.

 

There are very few that have happy endings.

 

Harry Potter is sorted into all four houses, he is on every side of—

 

* * *

 

“—tle!” someone shakes my shoulder.

 

I wake up with a start.

 

“We’re almost there!” Lena excitedly exclaims from her position next to me.

 

She is kneeling on the seat, staring out of the window.

 

“A Prefect came by earlier, alerting us,” Levi says. “He also said to make sure to change into the uniform.”

 

“Us girls decided to wait until you woke up,” Lena proclaims. “So we could all go together.”

 

Myra smiles, Marion sniffs, Phoebe giggles, and the five of us head off.

 

* * *

 

 _What a dream I dreamt_ . I think to myself, as I slowly put my uniform on. _If this is some ridiculous way of the universe telling me—_

 

“Travers,” a mildly nasally voice drawls from behind the five of us. “How lovely to see you consorting with mudbloods… I see you’ve found a niche for yourself.”

 

I spin around to see a rather pretty blonde, already in uniform, not a single hair out of place. The four other girls are straightening their clothes and hair, and I rush to do the same.

 

“I found myself intelligent company,” snarks Marion, as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I see you haven’t even a creature to interact with.”

 

Inching closer to the other girls, we murmur to each other and fidget nervously, wondering if we should help before a catfight occurs.

 

We do nothing, because the blonde gives Marion a haughty smirk, turns to us, and says, “Well then, cousin, introduce me to your intelligent company.”

 

* * *

 

Turns out the blonde’s name is Lorraine Malfoy, and she isn’t quite as caustic as she first sounds or appears. Or she’s a fantastic actress, I’m not entirely sure. But Marion deems her good company, and Malfoy does not call any of us “mudblood” to our faces again. She does not apologize about her earlier transgression though, and that says volumes about her personality.

 

Lorraine ends up joining us in our compartment as we wait for the train to reach Hogwarts. She is also much nicer towards Irving.

 

* * *

 

Irving, Lorraine and Marion are surprisingly receptive about muggle traditions and such. They do not understand how a lot of the things work, but they ask questions about muggle things, and that in general means they want to learn.

 

They do not particularly like muggle-borns, because they are raised with different traditions. The muggle-borns bring the traditions with them, and then refuse to adapt, or add some wizarding traditions to their own.

 

Thankfully Lena had already asked about what differences there were in holidays and other celebrations throughout the year, as well as what do do during those holidays, otherwise there was going to be quite an argument.


	4. Cynosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Sortings and persons of interest.

**cynosure** ( _noun_ ) - a person or thing that is the center of attention or admiration

 

* * *

 

Considering how accurate the description of Hogwarts Express was, I expected very much the same thing in regards to Hogwarts Castle.

 

Grand, imposing, monumental.

 

All of the above.

 

But in all honesty, the castle looked completely run down, like the slightest bit of wind was going to shift a pebble, thus bringing the entire castle perched precariously on some giant rocks down.

 

* * *

 

I had always missed the sprawling city since finding myself a couple decades back in time. Everything just wasn’t as modern as it used to be, and I was much too lazy— too used to automated anything.

 

And it was nice, I guess. To have things to do in a regularly mundane life. It would have been much harder to hide the magical aspect of me otherwise.

 

But it certainly wasn’t easy to ask about things that weren’t created yet. (That was one the first things I learned in this world, how to shut myself up.) Elvis Presley, for example, definitely wasn’t singing some of his more popular albums yet. He’s barely even four years old to date.

 

* * *

 

It is no surprise that Lorraine Malfoy is a Slytherin. Her words have multiple meanings, both good and bad, and she is ambitious. To wish to work at least as Undersecretary for the Minister is a bold statement. But there is a longing in her eyes, for something else, something better.

 

Irving is placed in Hufflepuff, just as he proclaimed in the Express, and Montague is there too. Myra and Phoebe end up in Gryffindor, Levi and Lena in Slytherin, and Marion is easily put in Ravenclaw. I am worried, regardless of the House I am given.

 

Do I want the world to have changed already? Or do I wait, and bide my time? I am sure there have been ripples already. Maybe Levi was female, or Montague stillborn. Marion might have been half-blood. The possibilities are endless, but there is no reason to dwell.

 

* * *

 

The group that remains waiting to be sorted has dwindled down to the last few letters of the alphabet, and the longer I wait, the clammier my hands become. My hands shake a little, I can feel my stomach turning, and—

 

“Warren!” Professor Dumbledore pronounces. His blue eyes twinkle behind half moon spectacles as he peers through the crowd, looking for me. “Myrtle Warren!”

 

I swallow, close my eyes for a brief moment.

 

Inhale, exhale.

 

I step forward.

 

* * *

 

“Ravenclaw!” the Hat shouts atop my head for all of the Great Hall to hear.

 

I don’t know if I am relieved or not. Moaning Myrtle was a Ravenclaw, which meant she was clever; She knew her way around most riddles. Love blinded her, killed her, left her haunting her past. I was a Ravenclaw. I _am_ a Ravenclaw. I just have the memories of another life.

 

I am not brave, I am less loyal than I’d like to be, I do not have the greatest sense of self-preservation.

 

I wonder if that is enough.

 

* * *

 

Professor Dumbledore takes the Sorting Hat off, and I stumble off the stool to get on my feet. Most of the Ravenclaw table is clapping raucously but also politely, and I make my way over to where Marion is sitting. Two prefects are standing on either side of the giant table, waiting to welcome new students.

 

“Call me Jenna,” the female prefect says. She shakes my hand gently, hers cool and dry against mine.

 

The male prefect spares a look and barely nods in my direction. I catch a glimpse of grey.

 

“That’s Atlas, but unless he specifies, call him Black,” Marion murmurs from her spot next to me. “He’ll curse you otherwise.”

 

I wonder if that was based on experience, but she doesn’t look particularly worried. I am too scared to try.

 

* * *

 

“Zylka!” Professor Dumbledore pronounces. “Stan Zylka!”

 

* * *

 

The boy, Zylka, is beyond skinny. He is gaunt, skin and bones, a dead look in his eyes. His eyes. They are pale, an icy grey-yellow, barely discernible from the whites of his eyes. The pupils are the only splash of “color” on his face. He looks like a skeleton, and there is an unreadable look in all the professor’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

The boy is a hat stall.

 

Nearly eight minutes go by.

 

The Hall is near silent.

 

Professor Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle incessantly, brighter than before.

 

* * *

 

“Ravenclaw!”

 

* * *

 

And at last, the Sorting is over.

 

Zylka doesn’t look like much, but a hush runs over the table when Black actually deems him important enough to shake his hand. I turn to Marion, about to ask _why_ , but without looking over, she steps on my toes. I take the action to mean that she would tell me later.

 

* * *

 

“Welcome, welcome back, to Hogwarts…”

 

* * *

 

Turns out, Zylka’s father was a spy for the war against the Dark Lord Grindelwald. His father died nearly three years ago, but took out a platoon of Grindelwald’s soldiers, and saved a whole bunch of people. Life debts were abound, many people were very thankful.

 

Zylka, though, definitely did not like the attention. He was like a mouse, or at least a mostly starved mouse. He was deathly allergic to most things, and coming from a poor family, there were a lot of things he could not eat. Thus explaining his skeletal figure.

 

Further questioning let me know that Zylka’s burst of accidental magic allowed his father to have enough time to kill the platoon of soldiers. He was _there with his father as he died_.

 

* * *

 

Accidental magic is not quite the same as wandless magic.

 

Accidental magic is a surge of magical energy finding a way to output itself instead of imploding within. Wandless magic, on the other hand, is actually finding your core, then maneuvering a small amount of magic, and shaping it to the desired form.

 

It is possible to control both types of magic, but wandless magic is easier to control since the surge of energy from accidental magic comes out differently each time.

 

* * *

 

I was not one of those people who turned out to be a genius at wandless magic. I was not one of those people who could force their accidental magic to do what they wanted.

 

Sometimes when I’m angry, things explode. They don’t burst into fiery flames or anything, but they sort of grow bigger and pop. Then ashes fall down.

 

When I’m happy, the bows I tie into my hair turn a different color.

 

Nothing particularly special, per se, but it was still very difficult to explain away to my muggle teachers.


End file.
